by Syms, Carly
Doan places a hand over his heart. "You're killing me, Holly. I don't know what I did to deserve this."
"Yeah, you do."
He sighs. "Come on, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just having some fun."
"Fun that could have killed someone." I shake my head. "It isn't a game, Doan. You can't gamble with people's lives just because you're bored."
He stares at me for a few beats. "I wasn't gambling with -- it's not because I'm -- you know what? Forget it. I can't explain it to someone like you, anyway."
"That's because there is no explanation."
"Let it go, Holly."
I let out a long, bitter laugh. "I'm not going to do that. What you did was so incredibly stupid and it makes me really mad. Sorry if you don't wanna hear it, but I'm gonna tell you what I think."
"I know!" he snaps. "Okay? I know. It's stupid. But that doesn't change anything."
"Change anything about what?"
"What I did. Why I did it. All of it. Nothing changes anyway," he says. "So you can quit it with the lectures. You're wasting your time. And mine."
I stare at him, eyes narrowed, mouth open, stunned he has the gall to yell at me about what he did.
"Fine," I say. "If you want to get yourself killed, that isn't my problem."
Something flashes in his eyes, and I have no idea what it is, but it's there just long enough to startle me.
"You're right," he hisses. "It isn't your problem. So stop trying to make it one."
I look at him, realizing I'm breathing a little bit heavier than normal, my heart thumping against my chest as we stare at one another.
"Doan, I -- "
"Don't, Holly. Just...don't. I have to get back to practice."
I don't get a chance to say anything as he turns and jogs away from me. I don't even know what I'd want to tell him, if I could tell him anything, or why this bothers me so much, but there's a thick cement brick in my stomach. This car-racing thing, it isn't just fun, stupid recklessness. There's something else there.
And for some reason, I'm not going to be able to let it go until I figure out what it is.
***
Dad's been at the field for almost two hours now, and I can't stop watching the practice even though I'd thought I had no interest in it as anything other than a reason to escape girls' day with Tanya.
My brother is pretty good at baseball -- all of the guys are -- but my eyes keep wandering over to Doan as he works on the pitcher's mound.
He's good at what he does, but I'm not watching him so I can suggest improvements for his curveball.
I don't really know why I can't take my eyes off of him because if I could draw up the exact opposite of what I want in a guy, Doan's it.
Except for the whole drool-inducing abs and gorgeous eyes and annoyingly sexy smile, but there's not much I can do about that. Besides, his personality more than ruins any bonus he earns from his time in the gym.
"Alright!" Dad yells out, clapping his hands. "That'll do for today, gentlemen. Nice practice."
The guys all jog over to the bleachers where I'm sitting to gather their things and head to their cars.
"We're gonna grab some pizza," Justin says to me as I stand and pick up my bag. My stomach growls as soon as he mentions food. "You in?"
I catch sight of Doan climbing into the front seat of his black pick-up truck, the sun reflecting off of the metal dog tags hanging around his neck, and suddenly I want to tell Justin no thanks, but my stomach rumbles again and he laughs.
"I'll take that as a yes," he says, and I frown. "Besides, you've gotta ride home with Dad if you don't come. He'll love that."
I sigh and open the passenger side door of his car, and he smiles.
"Good choice."
"I didn't know Doan was on the team," I say once we pull out of the parking lot and into traffic. His truck is just a few cars in front of ours and I notice an Arizona Wildcats baseball decal on the back window for the first time.
Justin glances over at me. "Yeah, he is. He's one of the best pitchers in the state. I saw you talking to him before."
"He's kind of a jerk."
"Yeah, he is. But cut him some slack. He has his reasons."
I shake my head. "Nothing excuses him."
Don't be so judgmental."
I glare at my brother, mouth hanging open. "How can you say that? Do you even know what he did?"
"I can guess," Justin says. "But it doesn't matter. I know his story."
"Okay, so what is it?"
"Not my story to tell, Holls."
"Well, then, I don't know how you expect me to be okay with him."
Justin sighs. "I was hoping you could take my word for it. He'll tell you when he's ready to, if he ever decides that's something he wants. It isn't up to me."
"Then why mention it at all?"
He shrugs. "Doan's my friend and I know there's a solid guy in there most times. Was just hoping you'd trust me."
I shake my head, thinking of the car race down the busy street the other day, the squeal of the tires, the smell of the burning rubber, the cloud of smoke, and all the innocent lives they'd put it danger.
"Whatever."
Justin lets out a sigh, and we drive the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence. I'm hoping that Doan will have just decided to go home and his pick-up won't be in the parking lot, but Justin pulls into a space right next to the truck.
Great.
We're the last to arrive and the hostess walks us over to a long table in the middle of the place. There are only two seats left; one, naturally, is right next to Doan.
He grins at me -- an obnoxious, toothy, arrogant grin -- when I glance at him, and I frown. I'm grateful that Justin's walking in front of me. He knows how I feel about Doan; there's no way I'll have to be the one to sit next to him.
But then Justin drops into the seat next to the curly red-haired guy, leaving the only empty chair next to Doan, and my heart stutters and a pit forms in my stomach and mostly I just want to smack my brother across the face.
I narrow my eyes as I flop down into the chair.
Hey Holls," Doan says cheerfully, like he wasn't just yelling at me a few hours ago.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "Hi," I mutter. "Don't call me Holls."
Justin nudges me with his foot under the table, and that's when I realize he did this on purpose. He wants me to sit next to Doan. Is he crazy? I press my sandal down onto his sneaker as hard as I can, and I smile when I hear him mutter an obscenity under his breath.
Good.
Serves him right.
"So, pizza," says one of the guys sitting at the other end of the table. "I'm thinking four of them. Pick 'em like we usually do."
I've always been fussy about my pizza toppings so this guy's announcement sends me into a moment of panic.
"How do you usually pick them?" I whisper to Justin.
"There are twelve of us tonight, so three of us will decide on a pie for the whole table and then we wind up with four different pizzas with whatever on them. It's sweet."
"You don't get weird things on them, do you?"
He shrugs. "Sometimes."
"You know I can only have pepperoni."
"Me too," Doan says, and I glance at him over my shoulder with a scowl on my face. "But I usually get sucked into eating something gross on my pizza here."
"That's the worst," I say politely.
"I'll split pepperoni with you," he offers.
"That's okay."
"You're gonna be picking anchovies and spinach and pineapples off your slices if you don't."
I let out a small sigh. It's just pizza, right?
"Fine, fine."
He grins at me like he's won some kind of battle. "Awesome."
We all place our orders for the different pizzas and then the guys fall into smaller conversations, most of them about baseball. Justin's talking to the two guys across the table from him, while Doan's deep into a discussi
on with the guys on his other side.
That leaves me staring awkwardly at the jars of peppers and Parmesan cheese in the middle of the table.
I'm examining my cuticles and deciding that I need to put on a fresh coat of pink nail polish after I get home later when Doan turns in his seat to face me.
I glance up at him and raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"How'd you end up here?"
"Justin asked if I was hungry."
He grins and shakes his head. "Not what I meant."
"I know."
"Are you always such a smart ass?"
"When it benefits me."
"How does it benefit you now?"
"I don't really like you."
He lays his right hand over his heart and sticks out his bottom lip. "You're killing me, Holls." I open my mouth to protest when he smiles. "I know, I know. Don't call you Holls. I got it."
I'm not sure I like that he already knows exactly what I'm going to say before I say it.
"Yeah," I tell him. "So stop."
He laughs. "So are you going to answer my question?"
"I didn't have much of a choice."
"You always have a choice."
"I wasn't going to move to Canada."
Doan smiles. "It was Arizona or Canada? Okay, maybe you didn't have a choice after all."
I laugh despite myself. "Exactly."
"Where were you before?"
"Pennsylvania."
"And you're complaining about coming here? I thought you were gonna say Hawaii or Florida or something. But Pennsylvania? Is there even anything there?"
I shrug. "It's home."
"Home can be anywhere you want it to be."
"Not here," I tell him, and I glance down at my hands. I still don't like him, but I feel oddly comfortable talking about all of this with him. Maybe it's just because my only alternative is going back to examining my nails while I sit around in awkward silence. "My mom got remarried last month. To an Italian count. She lives in Sicily now."
"You couldn't go with her?"
"I could have, but I didn't want to move to my grandmother's house in Toronto," I say. "You think I would've been okay going to Italy?"
"Good point."
"Yeah. So my father offered me a room while I get my life together and here I am."
"But you don't want to be here."
I shake my head. "I don't know what I want."
"What do you do? High school? College?"
"I just graduated from high school. I'm not sure if college is in the cards for me, though." I don't look at him when I say this; I've seen way too many stares of shock and pity whenever it's come up before.
"Didn't apply?"
"No, I did. I got into a couple of places. Even Arizona State because my mom essentially made me apply there," I say. "I just don't know if I'm gonna go."
"What else would you do?"
I glare at him. "I'll figure it out."
He holds up his hands. "Hey, don't shoot," he says. "I'm just asking."
I sigh. "I know. Touchy subject."
"I bet."
"Enough about me," I say, not liking where this conversation has ended up. "What's your story?"
A storm cloud passes over his face and stays just long enough for me to notice it and wonder why I struck a nerve.
"I don't really have one."
"That isn't what Justin said."
"Justin should keep his mouth shut," Doan grumbles, and I notice his hands have balled up into white-knuckled fists at his side.
"He didn't tell me anything," I say quickly. "Nevermind."
At that moment, four waiters walk over with the different pizzas, and I've never been so grateful to see the food arrive in my life. I hadn't meant to upset him, but I guess Justin's right.
Doan definitely has a story, and it isn't an easy one.
But that just makes me want to hear it even more.
CHAPTER SIX
I'm up in my bedroom later the next night, guitar in my lap, song notebook open on the bed next to me.
I know I'm not going to play at Gemma's or anything, but thinking about it made me realize just how much I'd let music go from my life, and how badly I want it back.
I flip through my notebook -- I've only come up with five original songs, and they're all finished and I like them okay, but there's one song on the very last page that I've been trying to write for months, maybe even years. I don't remember how long it's been.
And it still isn't working the way I want it to.
Probably because it doesn't have an ending, and I can't find the right one.
I read over what I have written already for it and let out a sigh. I scribble the first verse onto a fresh sheet of paper, then tear the old page from my notebook, crumple it into a ball and launch it across the room at my trashcan where it hits the rim and falls harmlessly to the carpet.
I smirk. Fitting.
I flip back a few pages to the first song I ever wrote and pick up my guitar, strumming the opening chords and begin to sing.
I'm almost to the chorus when I hear a knock at my door. I ignore it and keep singing when it sounds again, louder and more persistent this time. With a groan, I put my guitar down on the bed and walk over to the door, expecting to see Dad or Justin standing there, wanting me to come down to the pool again.
Instead, I jump back immediately as Doan leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his bare chest. He's wearing just a pair of bright blue swim trunks and flip flops.
"I didn't know you were a singer," he says.
I swallow hard. He must've just come out of the pool; there are still some water droplets clinging to the muscles on his tanned arms and pecs.
"Uh," I say, shaking my head, trying to regain my composure. Doan, of all people, isn't going to affect me. "You don't know anything about me."
He smirks. "Well, now, that isn't true. I know you don't want to live in Arizona, don't really like your dad and that you're pretty cute when you're all riled up around me."
My nostrils flare. Justin always used to say that was a dead giveaway that I'm either about to let someone have it, or lie.
I'm not sure which one is in play right now with Doan.
"You don't rile me up," I say.
Lying it is.
Doan raises his eyebrows. "Sure thing, Holls. You sound good."
I feel my cheeks grow warm, and I hate my body for betraying me like this. I don't care what Doan Riley thinks about anything that has to do with me.
"Thank you." My voice is calm and cool.
He smiles and shakes his head. "I really don't get it. Why do you hate me so much? I'm not a terrible guy. Most people even think I'm fun."
"If you still don't understand it, you never will. And I'm not most people."
"I know," he says. "Believe me, I know."
"I really should get back to the guitar."
"Do you play in front of people?" he asks.
"No."
"Why not?"
I shrug. "Just never had the chance."
"No, I don't believe that. You can always find the opportunity you're looking for if it's what you really want."
"What are you, some kind of book of proverbs?"
"What?" His forehead creases.
"First, you tell me over pizza that we always have a choice, and now you come out with this line about opportunity?" I raise an eyebrow and fold my arms across my chest.
He grins. "I guess you could say that I'm chock full of life's little wisdoms."
"I don't think that's what you're full of," I mutter under my breath, but he only laughs.
"I'm gonna wear you down, Holly," he tells me. "It's just a matter of time, you know that, right?"
"Wear me down to what, exactly?"
He shrugs. "I'll settle for you being a normal person that can have a conversation without looking for new ways to insult me."
"Why would you want that?"
He laughs. "I think you're interesting.
And I think there's a lot more to you than you let on."
"Funny you should say that," I shoot back. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one."
"Drop it," he says.
"What, so I'm just supposed to tell you everything about me, but you can't tell me about you?"
"I didn't say I want you to tell me everything."
I roll my eyes. "Semantics."
"No," he says. "Not at all. I think there are certain things we all want to keep hidden for whatever reason, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. We don't have to share everything with everyone."
I'm not sure what to say to that. I don't think he's wrong.
"Come down to the pool," he says after my pause stretches to awkward heights.
I shake my head. "No, I'm good up here. Gotta work on the music."
"Okay, well, the whole reason I came up to find you was just to give you a head's up, anyway."
"About what?"
"I heard your dad talking to your stepmom downstairs when I was grabbing a Bud Light," he says, and my stomach immediately twists. "He's gonna ask you to play for the team."
"The what?"
"You know, the baseball team." Doan gives me a funny look. "The one he coaches."
I take a step back from him. "Why would he ask me that?"
Doan shrugs. "I don't know. If I had to guess, it's so he can spend more time with you."
I let out a breath. "Great."
"I know I don't know the whole story there," Doan says, looking me straight in the eyes. "Or even the beginning of it. But if I were you, I'd do it. There's never enough time with your family."
I open my mouth to respond, but he shakes his head.
"Just trust me on that one, okay, Holly? No matter what, you can always forgive family. I understand better than you think."
And with one last look at me, Doan gives me a strange little half-smile behind his suddenly sad eyes before he claps his hand against the door frame and turns to walk down the hall.
I lean up against the door and watch him walk away, my eyes drawn to the ripples of the muscles in his back, but I'm not really seeing him.
I can't stop wondering about what he's talking about.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I'm sitting outside on the back porch later that night under the covered patio with a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs when the sliding door opens and Dad steps out onto the deck and glances over at me.
